It Always Works Out, Somehow
by adoptedsin
Summary: Jesse is off on his own adventure... to a war on the other side of the world. Is it really his own adventure though, or will he be sharing it with a whole flock of missing family members? ::Completed Story::
1. Without Them

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Ducks. I do not personally know the Ducks or anyone from the movies. This is just my fiction story. Fan fiction, to be more specific. So, in the form of a more formal (and politically correct) disclaimer... This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously (referring to the Ducks), and "any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental."  
  
Author's Note: Sorry for such a lengthy disclaimer. I just found real books' disclaimers to be quite interesting. Anyways, I just decided to write a "war" story. I don't mean to steal anybody's ideas, because I know there are one or two Ducks' fics out there that talk about their going to war. I just came up with this when I was looking at some old stories I wrote a couple years ago as school assignments and when I was looking at some Lost ads in the newspaper. Besides, I don't think ideas can be copy written... But, to get to the point, sorry if this might resemble another story in any way at all.  
  
Point of view: Jesse  
  
I hadn't seen them since I had left Minnesota after the Junior Goodwill Games. We were just kids then. Parting wasn't so bad; we had all promised to keep in touch. And we did. Most of the Ducks went off to Eden Hall and created our never-to-be-forgotten dynasty there. I was their backstage fan at that time, applauding them for their victories from my new home in the heart of New York City.  
  
Then college came. Man, those were some crazy years. The Ducks split up and went their separate ways, but hockey ultimately kept us together. We wouldn't let anyone take that away from us. We'd watch each other's games on the television once in a while when they popped up. And the e-mail. There was a crap load of it; from one Duck to another to another, until the message had reached everyone.  
  
They were my family, no matter how far apart we were from each other.  
  
Sure, New York City held some good times for me; I even got into New York University for college. I know my parents were proud for sure, but... Things still would never be the same.  
  
I can remember distinctly the sun's vibrant wash over the busy city in the early morning hours, reminding me of Minnesota yet again. For a moment, everything was seemingly perfect. Flashbacks of the Ducks would run through my mind, tugging at my insides. I missed it all. But then I'd look down from my window on the fourth story of the brick apartment building and see the traffic and businesspeople walking along the sidewalk; I was still in New York, doing my own thing. Reality was tough, and the Ducks were my dream.  
  
Maybe hockey had some mysterious powers or some kind of spell woven deep into its material meaning because nothing had ever meant so much to me. Nothing had ever brought me so much friendship. Nothing else could have brought me to the Ducks with such perfect timing.  
  
You have no idea how much I wanted to go back to being a kid again... To be one of those Ducks who didn't mind getting in trouble for their teammates or for quacking at the principal.  
  
While I reminisced in my own world, the real world was spinning without me. The America that I had once proudly represented dragged itself into the center of big trouble. It wasn't trouble wherein they just had a big debt to pay or couldn't choose which ally they wanted to support. It's more like: Someone hurt our country, emotionally, physically, and economically, so now we're going to go kick some butt.  
  
Oddly enough, I had signed the papers in which I agreed that I would enter the battlefield (or maybe stay behind the battlefield) if the Army or Marines ever needed me. Heh... like they'd ever need me to go and fight. Yeah, right.  
  
But they did. They actually called me up and told me that they needed me. You knew that was coming, didn't you? New York City life was so predictable.  
  
I'm leaving the city today. All I have to do is shove some stuff in a bag or two, and then I'll be off. Who knows how long I'll be gone. Weeks, months, maybe even a little over a year.  
  
The taxi I had called just a few minutes ago arrived, and I threw my things inside the vehicle along with my own body. Here we go. All this time, I had been waiting for something new to happen; well, this was it, wasn't it?  
  
I peered out the left window as we drove by the places I had grown to know so well. My eyes wandered first from one urban sidewalk tree to another, but I soon began to gaze at each store and restaurant we passed. The driver turned west, tapping his fingers impatiently on the wheel; the traffic today was horrible. Beneath the next overpass, two cars were badly maimed, one on the rear and the other from the front. Tough luck there.  
  
At the huge, gray-walled base in Maryland, things seemed somber... even dreary. I stepped out of the taxi, met by a tall, built man wearing dark sunglasses and a black suit that looked too big for his size.  
  
"Mr. Jesse Hall?" the man asked in a deep voice. It sounded more like a statement than a question, but I nodded nonetheless. The man held out a large, pale hand. "You can call me Lieutenant Groby."  
  
Putting down my bags on the paved road, I shook his outstretched hand. "So... uhh... what should I be doing? I mean, I've never done this before..."  
  
The lieutenant chuckled in amusement. "Don't worry about it. You'll be working with a team consisting of people who have as much as training as you have."  
  
Was I supposed to be relieved?  
  
He led me through a dark corridor decorated with a single light bulb hanging by a short silver chain from the high ceiling. The one-hundred- meter-long pathway ended at a securely locked door and a touch pad next to it.  
  
I glanced at Lieutenant Groby, expecting him to punch in a code that would cause the door to slide open. Instead, he looked right back at me.  
  
"Twenty-seven. Ninety. P. J. H. Seven. Nine. Then touch your right thumb to the screen and turn it counterclockwise for a full ninety degrees. That's your only way of getting in here when no one else is with you. Remember it."  
  
I carefully typed in the series of numbers and letters, following his every direction. I was afraid that if I couldn't even do this correctly, how would I ever be able to manage a war?  
  
The massive, rectangular block moved to the left, revealing a more inviting environment than I had expected. People were talking, laughing heartily, working with ease. They made it seem as if the war was merely child's play in a sandbox. I almost believed it too.  
  
Over the next week I spent at the base, I was able to make the acquaintance of several captains and generals, who were always happy to oblige by showing me around and teaching me the fundamental parts of combat. They taught me how to remain calm and rational in emergencies and disasters, how to load a gun, how to aim correctly, how to maneuver in and out of the fighting zone. Everything seemed so easy and so relaxed, but they let us know that they were really preparing us for anything that might, and would, happen.  
  
Everything was a blur on the day I had to leave. I don't recall how I had gotten out of bed, what I had eaten, who I had greeted with a sure salute. But I know I was nervous; I was supposed to meet the people I'd be "hanging" with out there. Wouldn't it have made more sense if I had gotten acquainted with them upon arriving?  
  
No, they had said, it would be better to do things this way. We might as well get used to making last-minute adjustments.  
  
I walked slowly out to the plane, the one that would take me to the other side of the world. I suddenly had no idea what I was doing here.  
  
Author's Note: There are only going to be three chapters to the whole story, so I'll try my best to make these chapters longer. (Heh... I'm writing my author's notes like I expect people to be reading them...) 


	2. We Are the Mighty Ducks

Author's Note: Not as long as I had hoped it would be, but here it is.  
  
Before the Ducks, I used to like thinking I belonged in war. There existed some sort of challenge and fascination behind it that I believed nobody else could see. I had been a solitary figure within a loud, rebellious boy's body.  
  
And look where I am now. A young adult in the midst of bigger conflicts. I had wanted the feeling of war surging up and down my spine, as if the tremors in my body were an earthquake rampaging in and over the earth itself. I realize now that I hadn't wanted to be getting into this by myself. But I am; at least, physically, I was alone.  
  
"How're you feeling, Hall?" Lieutenant Groby said from behind me, sounding bright and ready.  
  
"Nervous," I replied.  
  
He laughed lightly. He was always chuckling at me, but I'm sure he didn't mean any harm by it; he did things for the good of the troops. "You'll be fine. Your team's right over there. Come on. I'll introduce you." He started in the direction of a group of about ten men who appeared to be my age, add or take a few months or years.  
  
As we approached them, Lieutenant Groby yelled out in his commanding voice, "Men!"  
  
I had been looking down at the gray and graveled take-off strip for the planes and jets. I wasn't the kind of person who took it easy when meeting others I didn't know.  
  
"Damn, Jesse! You're here too?" I heard Portman call out in surprise.  
  
My head snapped up, catching the glare of the sun in my eyes. Yes, this was definitely my team. I was speechless.  
  
"I take it you all know one another?" Lieutenant Groby asked, just as astonished as I was.  
  
Charlie stepped forward and nodded, holding out his hand to me. "Welcome back."  
  
I grinned at the sound of those two words. I never thought "welcome back" could feel so refreshing. "Thanks, Conway," I said, shaking his hand.  
  
A loud, ringing chorus of familiar voices greeted me, and I drowned in their brotherly hugs and handshakes.  
  
Rain began to fall; it seemed almost as if this had been planned. I felt the drops of water at first softly hitting my skin, and the drops, in a matter of seconds, descended from the sky in buckets. They poured mercilessly from the clouds, stinging my arms.  
  
"Beautiful day, huh?" Guy commented sarcastically as we rushed into the building to wait for the plane.  
  
I shrugged, readjusting the light backpack on my left shoulder. "At least we got the Ducks, man."  
  
Guy looked around at the other guys. "Except for Connie and Julie."  
  
I frowned. "What are they doing?"  
  
"Connie's teaching some hockey stuff over in Minneapolis. Last time I checked, Julie was majoring in English Lit. and managing a high school hockey team."  
  
I placed my hands in my pockets. "I've missed a lot. Why didn't we ever keep up with the e-mail thing after those couple years?"  
  
"Not sure. I think most of us were just busy. You know, the usual excuse."  
  
I nodded in understanding. "So, what's really been going on? More hockey stuff, I'm guessing?"  
  
"Basically. Goldberg and Dwayne hung together and opened up an ice rink in Texas. That went pretty well. And Averman, well, he got a job teaching geometry. Charlie went off to play for the Anaheim Ducks."  
  
"I should have guessed," I laughed.  
  
"That's Charlie for you," Guy said.  
  
"What about Banks?"  
  
"Same as Charlie. They stuck together after college with Portman and Fulton. Russ went back to L.A. and opened up a shop."  
  
"For hockey?"  
  
"You know it."  
  
I shook my head. "We're all really obsessed with hockey. I just realized that."  
  
Guy grinned. "You're so slow, Jesse."  
  
"Yeah, yeah." My gaze rested on a taller Ken and Luis chatting in the corner with the other guys.  
  
"What about the Cuban and the figure skater?" I joked.  
  
"Hockey in Miami and hockey in San Francisco. What else would they do?"  
  
I shrugged. "I don't know. Speed skating and Olympic figure skating?"  
  
"Same difference." I heard Guy sigh. "This is going to be one heck of a ride," he commented, as we made our way to the group of guys.  
  
"Always is."  
  
Inwardly, I sighed as well. War was going to nerve-wracking. They tell us that all we really have to truly worry about is the protection of our nation's future, but we all know that we're also thinking about death.  
  
We're never sure how we may die or if we'll even return home one day. The unpredictability of it wasn't at all soothing. The thought that I could be coming back within a year with only one and a half of my legs remaining wasn't what I planned to order from the never-ending menu of war souvenirs.  
  
I never believed this could happen with the Ducks, either.  
  
Don't ask me how all of this came to be. What are the chances of a hockey team reuniting for a war with the outside world, the one that we could be playing a good game of hockey with right now instead of holding up the ends of our guns on our shoulders and pulling the trigger... instead of igniting bombs in their homes? It could be pure coincidence, a miracle. It could be fate, if you believe in that. As for my own opinion, I think it's because we all wanted to fly together again. After all, we are the Mighty Ducks. This was the real thing. 


	3. Our Flock

Author's Note: Last chapter! Hope it's depressing enough. Just kidding. It's a little rushed, but I wanted to get out what I had before I forget it all.  
  
Eighteen long months dragged by, and we were out in the middle of nowhere, fighting a war with people that might have been our friends had it not been for some stupid unrest in civilization, in economy, in politics. I speak of it bitterly... it's true that you never realize how wrong something is until you're done doing it.  
  
I have to admit, though, that we had our share of laughter and bonding. War always comes with that as well. But it makes the losses harder to handle.  
  
The physical fight was over. I had survived. I was angry with myself knowing that I had survived and two of my best friends hadn't. It didn't matter that I had survived anymore. We were all supposed to come out of this together. It never really works out that way, though. Plain and simple.  
  
No, not plain and simple. Nothing ever would be, nothing ever was. It's not like skating on ice; dealing with death was more than that. It's like pretending you're the happiest person in the world until you remember that you're the only one left.  
  
Funeral time, right? Not the best event in the world, but for Banks and Charlie, I'd go everyday. I owe more than my life to them.  
  
I've only been to one funeral in my whole life, and that was for a grandfather I barely knew. Now I'm at a funeral made for three.  
  
___________________________________  
  
From the beginning, we had paired up with a check-in partner within our own team. We didn't want to lose anyone or leave anyone behind.  
  
I was with Banks. And he had been our first loss... He was a statistic now, but he would always be one of our fighters.  
  
We had just "won" our hour-long battle against the masked opponent. Our morale was high, yet we couldn't help but feel guilty at the same time. In silence, we had performed a routine search of all the things abandoned. We had one tank remaining to look through, and Banks had volunteered to do it. We had waited patiently; war was tiring.  
  
"Uh, guys? You might not want to hear this, but there's a bomb in here!" he had yelled from inside the tank.  
  
"Holy shit," I remember Dean muttering under his breath.  
  
I glanced at the taller guy standing next to me. "Big surprise?"  
  
"Never," he had replied.  
  
Dwayne and I had hurried over to where Adam was, watching as he climbed with ease out of the huge machine.  
  
"Is it on?" Dwayne had asked, clearly worried.  
  
"Huh?" Adam returned, brushing dirt from his eyes. "Oh, no... there's nothing on or anything."  
  
All of a sudden, we began to hear distinct beeping sounds emanating from within the tank itself. Adam's eyes went wide with fear at first, but he came to his senses in seconds and disappeared again through the opening.  
  
"Adam! Get out of there, man!" I remember shouting at him.  
  
In frustration, I had pounded on the exterior of the tank, trying to get his attention. I knew it wouldn't work, so I had decided to drag him out by hand. That didn't work either.  
  
Inside the tank, he was busy trying to figure out to turn off the damn explosive device. I think he was either crazy or he had been caught up in the excitement of it all.  
  
"Jesse! What the hell are you doing!?!?" Adam had yelled at me, as I tried to pull him out.  
  
"Look at it, Banks! What do you think that is?!" I had screamed at him, the beeping sound becoming more urgent and loud with each passing minute.  
  
He stared blankly at me for a moment, and then said, "Two more minutes! Just give me two more minutes to figure this out!"  
  
"Two minutes?!" I had been too angry at the moment to try and sweet-talk him out of there. I should have beaten him over the head and dragged his body out. At least then he'd still be alive. "Two minutes?! This isn't a hockey game, Cake-Eater! The bomb's going to blast the both of us out of here in five minutes!"  
  
In no time at all, we were down to the last two minutes; the deafening beeps were giving me a headache.  
  
"Let's go!" Banks had finally yelled in my ear, out of exhaustion and fear. He had scrambled out of the chair and forced me out first.  
  
I looked back for a moment to see if he was following closely behind. He wasn't.  
  
"Go, Jesse!" he had screamed from the tank. He was struggling to pull his leg out of something; he was stuck.  
  
I swear my heart jumped into one of my lungs when the tank suddenly exploded into flame and bits of metal. I had been far enough not to get hurt, but Banks? He was gone. And I say that bitterly.  
  
I had begun to run towards the bright orange of the fire, but someone had stopped me, grabbing a handful of my shirt and pulling back. I turned around, breathing heavily and almost crying out of shock.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
Adam Banks had been one hell of a maniac. I don't think he was even human. He lived for hockey and the Ducks... from the very time he had taken a hit for us from the Hawks to the loyalty he kept for the Ducks while he played with the Warriors. True Duck? Yeah, I'd have to say without any hesitation that he qualified as one. Always.  
  
_________________________________________  
  
I remember Charlie telling me that if only he could get through this war, he could do anything.  
  
"You've already done everything, man," I had said.  
  
"I don't belong here, though."  
  
"None of us do. It's weird."  
  
He had nodded in agreement, looking off into space. "Too bad this isn't an ice thing."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Imagine if we could have a war on ice. Half these people would be falling over twice as much as they actually pull a trigger."  
  
I had laughed at his notion of the perfect war (if that makes any sense), but I knew that he had meant it. We all wanted an ice war. It had sounded funky when he had first said it, but now that I think about it, it wouldn't have been a bad idea.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
A week after Banks had literally died, we were all continuing to mourn, but none as much as Charlie. He had been the first to try and accept the former Hawk, and they had become fast friends, even with the few arguments along the way.  
  
We hadn't been prepared for the invasion, though we had a feeling that something was coming. Charlie had felt it most of all.  
  
When the invasion hit us, we had been packing up to move to another site out of fighting range. The sun was beginning to set; the darkness was falling upon our tired shoulders.  
  
They had come out of nowhere, shooting guns every which and way that was possible. And wouldn't you know it... they got Charlie.  
  
He had fallen where he was standing, bleeding from the chest. He had made no sound, and we hadn't seen him hurt until we noticed Dean pulling him out of the dusty battle zone.  
  
We were all panicked, though we tried our best not to show it. We gathered our remaining bags and tents, tossing everything in the vehicles standing by. Behind the grounded boulders, Fulton and Goldberg were shooting back.  
  
I sat next to Conway the whole time he lay under the makeshift hospital tent. He never moved from his spot either. The only thing he had said to me was, "Fly." And I would. I had promised him. And a Duck never breaks a promise.  
  
Charlie hadn't let anything get in his way. But it also meant that he would never skate with the Ducks again. At least not physically.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
I noticed the whole crew standing over near a large oak tree as I walked toward the group of funeral-goers. It was raining again, as it had been the first day I reunited with the team.  
  
"Hey, Luis," I said.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Sorry about Alison..."  
  
Not only had Charlie and Adam died from fighting, but Luis's wife had gone as well. She had been a nurse in Europe, fighting just as hard as our guys.  
  
Luis hung his head as Connie and Averman put reassuring hands on his shoulders. "Yeah."  
  
"Is that your girl?"  
  
"The one and only," he smiled down at her.  
  
I crouched down to talk to a small, brown-haired three-year-old with bright chocolate eyes. "Hi."  
  
She hung onto her dad's hands. "Hello," she smiled shyly.  
  
So, this was what we lived for.  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
That night, I packed my bags one last time, and hailed yet another cab.  
  
"Stop it here, please," I told the driver.  
  
I stepped out onto the hard and worn pavement. I made my way slowly into the cold building, and wondered where we would have been now without the war, without Eden Hall, without the Junior Goodwill Games.  
  
Ten minutes later, I was out on the ice. That was the best place to be; it was our shelter.  
  
I heard a laugh behind me. "This is fate or something, man. Maybe we should all just go join the Ducks and make it easier on ourselves. Then we wouldn't have to chase each other and hope that one day we'll run into each other," Russ suggested jokingly, followed by Portman and the others.  
  
"How'd you guys get here?"  
  
"Same way you did."  
  
I wish we all could have stayed there.  
  
__________________________________________  
  
From "Dulce et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owen:  
  
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,  
  
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,  
  
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs  
  
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.  
  
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots  
  
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;  
  
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots  
  
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind...  
  
______________________________________________  
  
From the soul of a fighter:  
  
We were at times lost, at times hungry for our world  
  
Outside of war. Yet all we knew to live for  
  
Was today. There was no telling  
  
When one life would end, and when another would begin.  
  
That's the brilliant mystery of it all.  
  
I remember thinking, when I was out there,  
  
Bloody, tired, thirsty...  
  
I would keep in mind what I was doing this for.  
  
For my friends... our flock, our herd, our stampede in the sky. 


End file.
